William S. Burroughs: The Cat Inside

I remember a white cat in Tangier at 4 calle Larachi, first cat to get in the house...he disappeared. And a beautiful white cat on a red mud wall at sunset, looking out over Marrakech. And a white in Algiers, across the river from New Orleans. I remember a faint, plaintive meeooww at twilight. The cat was vmmery sick, lying under the kitchen table. He died during the night.
The next morning at breakfast (were the boiled eggs just right?) when I put my foot under the table the cat was stiff and cold. And I spelled it out for Joan, to avoid traumatizing the children "The white cat is D-E-A-D." And Julie looked at the dead cat blankly and said: " Take him outside, because he stinks."